


Blue Waves of Change

by FabularumScriptorem217



Series: Blue [1]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Azula (Avatar) Redemption, Blue Spirit Zuko (Avatar), Character Death, Gen, Past Child Abuse, Spirits, Trauma, Zuko (Avatar)-centric, Zuko Joins The Gaang Early (Avatar), Zuko is an Awkward Turtleduck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:26:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24989773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FabularumScriptorem217/pseuds/FabularumScriptorem217
Summary: Crown Prince, banished, captain of this vessel this-very-much-Fire-Nation-vessel on a hunt for the Avatar—a child—the Fire Nation’s greatest threat.A threat, that Zuko had freed. Zuko hadn’t meant to, but like most things in his life that didn’t really matter. Because he still did. He had rescued the Avatar and maybe his friends…and a little Earth Kingdom girl. It just sort ofhappened.Now Zuko may have started a religion, and could possibly be dead and a spirit-the Blue Spirit. Well if he is, then may as well fight he might as well keep trying; because you never give up.Never Give Up Without A Fight.
Series: Blue [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1839013
Comments: 46
Kudos: 723
Collections: A:tla, The Best of Zuko





	1. He hadn't meant to—

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KidWestHope16](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KidWestHope16/gifts), [MikkiOfTheAnbu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MikkiOfTheAnbu/gifts), [MuffinLance](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MuffinLance/gifts).



> This work is **inspired by _blade of silver, forge of blue_ by [MikkiOfTheAnbu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MikkiOfTheAnbu); and _Atla Au outlines to write later (chapter 25 especially)_ by [KidWestHope16](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KidWestHope16/) **. I had read blade of silver a few days before the outline went up by KidWestHope16 and I kind of fell in love with the idea. So, I don't own most of the characters, a few are mine, or atla, (or **[MuffinLance](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MuffinLance)**) or the general idea. Hope you like it, comment I'd love to hear anything you have to say or ideas you have regarding where you want this to go.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > The mornings he'd return to the Wani, late, beyond Agni leaving the sky and his sister gracing it, sometimes even till his return nudging blue over the water; he'd find his Uncle sitting at the bow of his ship—tea ready and an empty spot across from him. 
> 
> Zuko had returned to the Wani, the Blue Spirit had returned to the Wani. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Trigger Warning:** implied/referenced character death; distorted thinking as a result of implied/referenced child abuse; referenced genocide; effects of war and colonization
> 
> Hope this is enjoyable, I enjoyed the premise and really wanted more stories about it, so here we are.

### Chapter 1: 

The mornings he’d return to the Wani, late, beyond Agni leaving the sky and his sister gracing it, sometimes even till his return nudging blue over the water; he’d find his Uncle sitting at the bow of his ship—tea ready and an empty spot across from him. This routine had been a rare occurrence, as many things were, prior to the Avatar’s return. Settling across from him and reaching for the tea, Jasmine, he marked the lines drawn across Uncle’s face into memory noting each new addition, his fault really. _Uncle in the Western Air Temple as they started out their voyage, gray and worn, but with far less canyons of worry in his brow, his face not quite as aged as Zuko sees before him now. Uncle less worn, less gray, and without worry in his eyes, setting out for Ba Sing Se; confident in his success._ Quiet, he knew his eyes weren’t the only ones roving the other, three years at sea and he still couldn’t save his Uncle the worry, less so now. He would say he was sorry, but it wouldn’t mean much not when he would do the same again, probably soon. 

Sitting Zuko could see out to where Agni welcomed the day, his light hitting the sea the sky, breaking into colors reminiscent of the nomads. His father wouldn’t appreciate the comparison (he wouldn’t appreciate what Zuko had done either in the name of his honor, ~~in the name of returning home~~ ), but his Uncle sat across from him worry in his brow and forgiveness in his eyes. Uncle knew, maybe not the way he’d run fast fast faster through the forest as if he could leave his treason behind, but how Zuko had needed to go, how he needed to be away from his salvation, his prison, his home, and all the things he needed to be here. Crown Prince, banished, captain of this vessel this very-much-Fire-Nation-vessel on a hunt for the Avatar—a child—the Fire Nation’s greatest threat. 

~~~~

~~~~

A threat, that Zuko had freed. He’d broken his chains fought his countrymen and almost died. He was supposed to have captured the Avatar—a child—after releasing him back into the wild, like the lemur-bat that travels with him. Anyone else would have, anyone else would have left him with Zhao, but Zhao is creepy, and the Avatar is a child, a child whose friends are sick and need him. Friends who had upon meeting him lunged forward spear in hand the other ushering children away from view, as if he was one to hurt children, a monster. That is all they’ve seen him as, a monster he’d tried to be ever since he shattered his mirror over the broken burnt ruin of his face, shaving his head in shame, to look older—scarier, monstrous. He only blames them for their assumption on nights he’s alone, on nights he can imagine his face whole as if it would make a difference in their actions their beliefs. His father always favored monsters. But—but they were children and they may not like him but how could he let them die, inadvertent or not, the last southern water bender and what had appeared to be the last remaining warrior in the south (it had to have been a trading post not a village, it was too small, it wasn’t sustainable), their deaths would stain him. Another mark to carry always. So, he’d helped when the Yuyan had shot at them, he’d deflected the arrow and ran with the Avatar in his arms he’d run him back to his friends, sick and very very confused. Nothing they said made sense... Before running again, knowing it was as much treason as releasing the Avatar in the first place (sometimes treason is simply doing nothing). He’d done that and more since he’d climbed out of the porthole that should be too small, but regardless of the way he stood compared to Uncle or the weight of responsibility entrusted to him by his father he was still not the size of an adult, he could fit. Zuko hadn’t meant to, but like most things in his life that didn’t really matter.

Because he still did.

He had rescued the Avatar—a child— and maybe his friends…and a little Earth Kingdom girl. It just sort of _happened_. He had been working his way back down far far away from the child who wouldn’t stop apologizing and thanking him in turn, running as if he could ignore the bitter taste of knowing he left behind his chance to go home; when he had heard the scream the crash and what was he to do? So, he had helped her he had saved her, she was just a little girl, enemy or not they didn’t know that. Now, sitting on the Wani, Jasmine tea and something he couldn’t quite place like burning like the Fire temples back home, in his every inhale he couldn’t find it in himself to regret it, worried Uncle or not— _possible treason or not_. Unnecessary to his mission or not. They were children, everyone he had just saved were still children. He might be trying to capture the Avatar—a child—to regain his honor and he might be chasing some of those children across the world, but that didn’t mean he needed to hurt or kill them, as long as it was still his mission he didn’t intend to (more than fighting them would). 

“You’ve been quiet, nephew.”

A noncommittal hum, he was quiet, and he wasn’t fully sure why. He didn’t quite feel right something had been off for a while now and stumbling walking running through green green brown towards blue, towards gray, towards the Wani, he was running and wanting to be here and he was here. How had he managed to get here, to get back to his ship, the Wani? He was off and wrong and different, but different or not he had a job to do, a mission he couldn’t find it in himself to let go of. 

He had spent three years with blue in every direction and the rocking motion of an unsteady sea. He had spent three years with people like Zhao at the ports sometimes even his own crewman, when they swore up and down he was in his cabin, or on the deck, or in the mess, anyplace anywhere but here; they would whisper of the useless mission, a fools errand nothing more. They would whisper as if that would keep him from finding it out, as if their brows and lips and eyes would not give them away, when next they were told where this lead would take them. The Avatar—a child—a bender of all four elements, the greatest threat to the Fire Nation, a twelve year old air nomad, a pacifist, a child. Hope, for he _had_ found him, three years chasing spirits and he’d found him. Just as his father knew he could. His father had trusted him with this mission to capture this threat, the Avatar—a child—and ensure that the Fire Nation would go unopposed to spread their glory and greatness with the world, to burn homes and villages and people. He was a prince, a prince of the Fire Nation, and this was war if people got hurt or killed well that’s what they do. They could have surrendered, and once they win they could bring peace, they could rebuild the world better, greater than it was.  
_A tiny village, warm expressions and kind words, shrouded in morning mist bright and simple tucked in the woods, a burnt handprint on a pillar, the gateway. A treasonous thought—please please don’t let them burn, keep them safe._  


“Nephew.”

“Just tired, Uncle.” Exhausted, ears ringing nonsense, cloudy, detached, confused. When had he found the time to change and meet his Uncle on the deck?

“Well a man needs his—” he is staring out at southern seas glaciers around him and he hears the words—the proverb his Uncle shares, he is angry snarling about his lack of time and his mission that there is no need for breaks in response, he’d be laying out after yet another defeat maybe even floating out over the water and it would be this proverb, it is always this proverb. Even dizzy and intangible, thoughts smoke on the wind, he doesn’t need to hear it, for it is this proverb. And maybe—maybe just this once he can pause his mission because he can’t he doesn’t there’s just there might be, well he has the time after all. The Avatar’s—a child’s—companions, also children, are sick. 

“Okay…”

A jump of eyebrows and widening eyes quickly replaced by a soft smile, his Uncle nods.

“We’ll have someone bring us breakfast then I can hear your stomach from here. Then you can take it easy, its good to catch up on your rest nephew. Besides I heard we will be in port for a while, apparently a spirit rescued the Avatar the other night—” an amused look. “—unfortunately, Zhao had not accounted for the work of the spirits.”

“Unfortunate, indeed.” Zuko mumbles out, mouth hovering over his cup and not a trace of regret in his eyes. 

* * *

Iroh, had been waiting for his nephew for some time. The moment the missive had come in declaring that Admiral Zhao, why do they keep promoting him, had captured the Avatar—Aang—and had so helpfully included the fact that he was at Pohuai Stronghold, _his nephew disappearing not to be found on the boat till past sunrise worn and proud, supplies surprisingly found after being rejected resupplying at port, his nephew angry eyes alight carefully roving, mapping, those that had so carelessly destroyed a village and messages arriving days later of an encampment being met with petty destruction,_ his nephew would risk much to go home, what defenses could stand against an angry determined child? His nephew may claim everything was for his honor, but he was just a child who wanted to go home to his father and his nation. So of course, his nephew—a child—had gone and broken into one of his nation’s most impenetrable fortresses and rescued the Avatar, Aang. His nephew was a capable fighter, but Iroh worried in what shape his nephew would return to him in, the Yuyan were at Pohuai. So, he sat waiting for his nephew tea ready, Jasmine, and greeted Agni.

Of all the scenarios he had prepared himself for, he wasn’t quite sure which this fell under. His nephew appeared to be whole, no arrows sticking out whatsoever; however, he just stared and was quiet, eyes not quite focused fully on here and now. 

He would love to push his nephew to share, but three years at sea had taught him that this might be the worst thing to do at the moment, so he sat—he was old he could be patient.

He should be able to be patient, but he was still the first to broach conversation, and his nephew not angry or frustrated, tired maybe, had brushed his concern away and then heeded his advice. He couldn’t stop the surprise from crossing his features, but kept the worry locked down as far as he could keep it. Iroh was used to many things at sea with a traumatized child, Zuko had always known what he needed, but whatever he had done whatever had occurred had left his nephew off balance, confused. Today they will rest, tomorrow he’ll garner some idea of what had occurred, he doubted it would be as entertaining as the left boot incident probably more worrying though, and continue on their hunt for the Avatar, Aang. 

Unfortunate, for Zhao indeed.

* * *

Days on shipboard were routine and simple. There were tasks and everyone aboard knew their role and performed it dutifully, when volume was applied. The addition of the Avatar—a child—changed many things but this was much the same. Stalk his deck, ensure tasks were completed, go over maps, attempt to hold his temper in check, fail as he did everything in life. It wasn’t his fault Lieutenant Jee had navigational difficulties and course corrections were necessary, stomp away to mutterings of child commanders (yet the course corrections were always made). Through everything even the baby katas Uncle put him through, _it is important to review basics, nephew;_ there was something extra. Zuko felt off, sleep hadn’t done away with it, his body didn’t fit. He’d worked over maps (the same he’d known and used for years the only thing changing was where he was permitted to be) and felt pulsing down his spine. He’d stalk his deck, taller, taller, infinitely taller. He was wrong and wired and confused. His katas felt easier, comfortable, probably because they were basics. Stretched and tight and raw, it was kinder than he deserved. He deserved to be wrong to be off to be punished. He’d disobeyed his father, he was a traitor, his father would never forgive him if he knew. He practiced and he felt wrong. 

He ate what assistant cook Dekku made, tasted bluequat berries, it was congee. 

His skin was surely breaking, pulsing, a heat, his fire maybe bursting. Flowing through his forms, loose and easy, not at all sharp and practical. _It felt right._ His flames strong, confused, for he was not angry. He was close he knew, something was still wrong but it was better much better. So, he’d climbed out of his porthole making for the forest and the cliffs, away from town. Away from people. He wanted, needed, to make his way through his forms with his dao, to feel fluid and right and perfect. To continue being, feeling, good. It was too early to turn in. His Uncle had, as Agni’s rays left the sky he’d reminded Zuko of needing rest before turning to do so himself. Zuko had waited then left. 

He was air, happy and light, and **_free._** If this was what air felt like, happy and wanton and destructive, they had to have destroyed them.  
~~How could they be superior when people could feel like this.~~  
A sound, cracks loud and happy through the trees, a laugh, _Zuko at sea scowl firmly in place older angrier, what was there to be happy for when there was no endless warmth in the ground beneath his feet hinting at the volcano he stood on, no sea ravens in the harbor, turtleducks in the pond, gardens to run through and sisters to be chased by._ A laugh, he could still do that, three years later— but he still could. 

He laughs and everything is bright and right, and he is grinning, _snarling and fanged,_ head, _horns,_ thrown back to the sky. Joyous and playful and right. Trickster. Saviour. His ears are filled with prayers words devoted to him and only him. He is right and deadly and free. His face wooden and blue.

_Not yet._

__

__

_Not yet, little one._

_Come back._

He throws the mask.

Standing in a clearing, blue fanged blue horned mask laying in the grass feet from him, it is easy to ignore the too colorful too bright, wrong _right_ world that was. It is easier still to let loose words which would have Uncle frowning and General Iroh loose among his men. There was singing, harmonious and not, nonsense with meaning, Zuko saw fit to ignore this as Jee ignores commanders. So he heard nothing. He was just standing two swords, one working eye, and a working heart demonstrated by the rhythmic and not panicked beating in his chest. He wasn’t—there wasn’t—it couldn’t—there was—it was nothing. It couldn’t be anything. He was the crown ~~banished~~ prince of the Fire Nation son of Ursa and Fire Lord Ozai, they had to be perfect. And perfect children did not hear voices (calling out for them to save them from a war their ancestors started). 

It was dark, but Zuko had found himself under Tui's light as frequently as that of her brother’s. The walk was made longer with the feeling of wood pressed against his chest under red. But, his ship was there, it was always there. Small and old and should have been decommissioned ages ago, would have been if Uncle hadn’t asked _begged_ his father for it, for him. When he captured the Avatar—a child—and returned to his home he knew the stories they’d tell would never speak of the rusted crowded cast off crew and ship he had received, the complaining (yet orders followed through) and the muttering (but invites to music night), the story would be grander and nicer all prettied up for the peasants, his people. He’d be home though, where he belonged. 

The bird _had_ to just start speaking. 

Where he should have belonged. Agni, don't let father find out. 

* * *

The morning mist had lifted and left them behind just as the Fire Nation had done, this time. They had came and threatened and swore, promises of fire and heat and pain. They had asked about a man in black with a face of blue, a mask they swore fanged and white and horned—an enemy, that had rescued the Avatar (had later rescued a child). When a presence revealed itself a shadow passing over the village, protective of them, threatening to the rest, the Fire Nation showed a sliver of sanity and left with their promises unkept. Biyu knew of spirits and swore themselves to this one, playful and protective, it had saved a little girl—Duri—and it had saved this Earth Kingdom village. So all of Biyu had built a shrine, its image made with careful hands, a shrine for the Blue Spirit. It was small but it would be well cared for, offerings of blue ever present, they sent their prayers up and out knowing they would be heard. The Blue Spirit—had saved them, protected them—it had been kind not cruel as spirits can be unknowingly. The Blue Spirit who left blessings in the hair of children and in the gateway of small Earth Kingdom villages. The Blue Spirit who blessed that of Biyu and made promises to return. They were wary and proud for spirits always keep their promises, so they would wait for the Blue Spirit’s return. 

They would wait.

* * *

The arrow struck, the Yuyan were known for their accuracy their ability to hit any target whether it is to pin a fly to a wall or to strike the individual who had rescued the Avatar.

The arrow struck, the Yuyan had helped to capture the Avatar—the world spirit, the bridge between this world and that of the spirits—with a whirlstorm of arrows and maybe a net, for the glory of the Fire Nation and Agni above. 

The arrow struck, the Yuyan behind the bow immediately wished they weren’t. They may have come to regret their involvement in any capturing of the Avatar—the world spirit, the bridge—in the first place. The entire base agreed.

The arrow struck, and the Blue Spirit fell. No one expected them to rise. This was the agreed upon moment in which everything went weird. The Blue Spirit fell or more so began to dissolve disintegrate into the wind itself. Their arms breaking twisting withering, their legs ceased to exist which should have caused them to fall and it did and didn’t. Their chest ashes in the wind, not the first and surely not the last, _there was a fair amount of ash coating this world coating the arms and hands and fingers of those with sunbursts in their chest._ The blue snarling twisting face, horned and horrible, blue—like those forbidden their watery graves behind walls of steel far far away from any semblance of blue. Horned like that of the lizard antelope, with its snarled fanged grin. Grinning—baring its teeth—a warning. A warning they had refused to heed. Kuzon of the Yuyan watched the blue smiling snarling face twist before it rose from its ashes once more swirling twirling, grinning always grinning, and grabbed the Avatar—the world spirit, the bridge—before running running far _hopefully_ far away, and felt like sitting down. Facial expressions were not something the Yuyan were to be known for but Kuzon could not stop the rampant fear from running across their face visible to those who bothered to look. 

The arrow struck, and the base with its sane commander, Shinu of course, immediately decided to fortify against wayward spirits. They had angered one, they knew they were cursed. Zhao did not. 

The arrow struck, and Zhao was promptly removed from Pohuai to ward off spirits and speeches. 

* * *

Aang—the Avatar—was not freaking out. Everything was fine, everything was great, why wouldn’t it be? He had learned _a lot_ about the Fire Nation, not that he hadn’t known anything about the Fire Nation before because of course he did, Kuzon is Fire Nation and they had been friends and they had had a lot of fun together. _And it had been a hundred years even though it’s been only a few months and all of his old friends are gone, or old (like Bumi), and different, because there is a war—a war he hadn’t really known was coming and a lot of people had died, and maybe it’s his fault because he was supposed to keep the balance he’s the Avatar— **the last airbender** —and he didn’t save them, he had run away, and Katara had said it wasn’t his fault but it kind of might have been possibly his. **The Blue Spirit definitely was.**_ He had wanted to ask the Blue Spirit if they could’ve been friends, like Kuzon, but they’d saved him and then they were gone so fast, and Aang had still been talking talking _apologizing_ and he hadn’t been able to ask before they were gone. Before he could figure out if there was any way to fix it or convince the Blue Spirit that yes, they had definitely died. 

The steel was cold cold cold and it was too small indoors, and Zhao-you’ll-be-here-a-long-long-time was giving a speech, that even Aang could hear. He was fine he wasn’t worrying because Katara and Sokka were sick thought-they-were-an-earthbender-sick and they said they were his new family and that they’d be there for him, but he couldn’t be there for them right now. He didn’t have any more friends that could come fix them and save him. Not that he needed saving. But—maybe it would be nice if someone did, because the Fire Nation was different and one of the lamps had blown out and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to see just how different the Fire Nation is now ( _they'd killed all his people—he was alone_ ). But, it’d be okay! He’d get to ride on a ship and see the islands he hasn’t seen in years now, one hundred years now, and maybe he’d see Zuko. Not that he wanted to see Zuko, but he had fought Zuko again and again, and no one had been burnt no one had been **hurt** , Zhao had set fire to all of his ships when they fought and couldn’t put them out. So maybe, Zuko would yell some more but he’d be someone to talk to. And maybe if Aang was really really good at talking he’d convince Zuko that the war needed to stop because he was just a teenager, and maybe if he could talk to Zuko he could talk to Zuko’s dad, and then he wouldn’t have to kill anyone. So, yeah! It would be okay, because if he goes to the Fire Nation he’ll just talk to them, and tell them all about how different it had been years ago and how it could be like that again… and maybe Katara and Sokka could get better on their own without these frogs, that were wigg-wigg-wiggling in his shirt and _cold_. And everything would be okay. And—and maybe some of the monks and nuns had gotten away and they would find him and he wouldn’t be the last one and he could say sorry because he hadn’t ( _a tent, bodies piled up on top of each other, Gyatso sitting-dead-alone, had he killed them, all those soldiers in that tent, temple solid not broken below him Gyatso stern but friendly, Aang the airbenders way of life is a way of peace, we don’t kill Aang, every life has value, air is freedom, and it hadn’t saved him, killing them hadn’t saved him_ ) and he hadn’t meant to—but he had. 

He hadn't meant to—but he had.

The speech had almost covered up the sound of fighting outside, but not completely, so he wasn’t completely off guard, it was just that the mask was horned and fanged and maybe a little scary, but they’d saved him! And they were fighting and it was great, not the fighting, but fighting _with_ someone and the Blue Spirit wasn’t even killing anyone there might have been some injuries but they weren’t killing them and that was great they must be against killing people too, and there were arrows arrows so many arrows and he was spinning his staff (broken spear) and they were deflecting them with swords and that was so cool they’d have to show him. Then there were swords at his throat and they were backing up and he may have been a little nervous, but the Blue Spirit wasn’t really hurting hurting people so it would be okay, they wouldn’t kill him. They didn’t. And he hadn’t died. They did.

He hadn't meant to—but he had. 

They both had went to deflect the arrow…and well it had hit. Aang was supposed to be the Bridge to the Spirit World, but it was changing twisting shifting and breaking and he had no clue what was happening. He didn’t know what to do, he hadn’t with Hei Bai, and he didn’t now. Because he knew, HE KNEW, that they had died. Then he was being picked up and carried away as they ran fast fast faster, and he didn’t know how to say that they died. They were dead. And it was his fault. He had tried to save them and he failed. He didn’t know _how_. Was there even a way to say that, and he had tried. After they had grabbed some more frogs (that had taken convincing and he’d received more of a blank stare than the mask already gave), and they met up with Katara and Sokka, he had tried. He had tried, and he had apologized, but they had run and Katara and Sokka were sick. 

He had tried.

Aang was great but he was also so so tired of people killing and dying and war and he had slept for one hundred years of it.

"Aang are you okay?" Katara asked not just in her voice but in her brow and her shift to move to flow to come and calm and soothe him. 

"I'm great!" and it almost didn't feel like a lie. 

Maybe one day it wouldn't be.

Light washes in and Sokka is spitting out a frog and flailing and Katara is laughing—maybe one day soon—he isn't alone.

* * *

His father would never want him home now. How could Zuko have done this. He had saved that little girl. He had saved the Avatar—a child. Was that what had done it, or was it allowing the villagers to mistake him as a spirit. He had known he had messed that up even without trying. _Zuko, kneel like this, hands like this, this is how we show respect love, cold stone, incense, statues and fire, Agni above. Amber eyes through smoke, a smile, and a gentle voice teaching sharing, this is what the spirits like, this is what to avoid, spirits aren’t human._ Zuko isn't human. Names are important. He hadn't given the village a name, but Biyu had given him one. 

The Blue Spirit.

He had just wanted to help—screams in the morning the sounds of rushing water and a bridge break break breaking. She had been humming. He had just wanted—small and scared in chains, the Avatar—a child—a way home. He had just—lungs burning gasping begging, water parting, and a crying mother. He had— _my friends are sick._ He—Zuko, son of Ursa and Fire Lord Ozai, had just wanted to help, they were children and he couldn't have let them die, any of them, the Avatar—a child—he wouldn't let them die. 

He had wanted to protect them, and he did. 

He hadn't meant to.  
But he did.  


And he wouldn't apologize.

_Blue Spirit after all. ___

* * *

_**The Blue Spirit.**_

_Trickster_

_Protector_

_Playful_

_Blessed of Biyu_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> original (unknown) atla creatures: lizard antelope  
> (Fire Nation seems to have lots of lizard types so what's better than a horned lizard...a horned Zuko)
> 
> Aang is not having a fun time right now, neither is Kuzon, or Zuko. Zhao will eventually not have a fun time, a grown man who picks fights with a sixteen year old and repeatedly invites him over for tea does not deserve a fun time.


	2. —But he did.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > He'd be home though, where he belonged.  
> The bird _had_ to just start speaking.  
> Where he should have belonged. Agni don't let father find out.  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Trigger Warning** : implied/referenced character death; grieving; distorted thinking due to implied/referenced child abuse; referenced child abuse; effects of war and colonization; alcoholism.

### Chapter 2:

Between ports, Zuko had always found time to sit with Iroh. He’d roll his eyes and scowl and shout himself hoarse, but he’d also sit and drink some tea (he claimed to not like tea), and he’d listen. Zuko might not heed his advice nor understand his proverbs, but he’d listen. The deck would warm with his presence. And, the next that they set out for sea after scowling and shouting and spending way too much time busy, he’d sit. 

They hadn't gotten around to sitting quite yet.

His nephew claimed he had slept soundly last night, but Iroh could see the dark under his eyes and the set of his shoulders, his body. How tiredness worked its way into his being as his anger had made its way into his personality. No doubt, his nephew was standing before him, Agni above, attempting to lie. Zuko was concealing his actions, lying, and Iroh would have to muddle through half explanations and piece together details. His nephew, his beloved nephew—still did not trust him.

Standing before him, Iroh worries. His nephew could be tired, he was at least tired. Or it could be worse, his nephew not just concealing tiredness but sickness or injury, and Iroh would have to handle the prickliness of an armadillo-porcupine as his nephew recovers and Iroh works to figure out what exactly today has brought him. His nephew was many things, easy was not one of them. He could only wonder in what shape his nephew would be in if he hadn’t taken the time to rest after his last expedition, the details of which had not yet been extracted (but effects still lingered). Before the Siege of Ba Sing Se and the consequences of it, Iroh would not have seen the effects, but Iroh had taken a _meditative journey_ , a spiritual journey, and had learned from it. A journey that had more so included begging the spirits for the return of his son and searching for any and all possible methods to bring those lost to the spirit world back to this one. It had definitely included the occasional cathartic screaming at the sky and the universe that his nephew so frequently utilizes. Iroh had managed to learn more about the spirit world, the other world, but had found no way to save his son. _He couldn’t even find his Lu Ten when he had journeyed there himself_. His journey had left him with some abilities to detect spirits and the other that surrounds them. 

Admiral Zhao had been rumored to have angered the spirits, a Blue Spirit was rumored to have saved the Avatar.

His nephew—well, Iroh wasn’t sure what he had done for he was quite often steeped in the presence of the other world. Three years at sea, three years with infinitely more ways for his nephew to find trouble. His nephew, his Zuko like the mosquito-moth was drawn to light was drawn to spirits and all the trouble surrounding them. Three years and Iroh wonders when his nephew will find it in himself to stop giving his Uncle heart attacks (Doctor Satomi said they were only phantom pains). His dear precious nephew who at any sign of spirit interference was off faster than his brother had usurped his throne. Zuko and the crew of the Wani are often colored by these experiences, seeped in the other that is. But, now with the addition of the Avatar—Aang—and his nephew’s insistence to fight the Bridge, he had found himself so thoroughly shrouded in the rainbowed hues to appear other himself. 

Watching his nephew, shout and bristle, at the lack of respect (of fear) his crew demonstrates, he knew that his nephew had been involved in some form of spirit task, it added to what was there from his rescue of the Avatar, Aang. He was deeply shrouded in otherness. Zuko wondered at why others grow wary it is not his shouting (nor his scar), it is not just his shouting (not just his scar) but they can tell even if they cannot see it they can feel the hint of other that Zuko carries and so avoid him at ports. His nephew pretends he does not notice, pretends that he is not hurt by it. Watching him stomp away, felt in the hull of the ship, reverberating, he could mistake the near spirit like appearance his nephew garners for that of one itself. And with the rumors—that a spirit had rescued the Avatar, Iroh could not blame them for their mistake. Watching, Zuko can easily be confused as one.

And it worries Iroh.

He watches, the odd additional movement his nephew had picked up, a hand brushing throat. A new tick, a tell, his nephew had added making his emotions even more easily read, his lying even more obvious. 

His nephew, strides across the deck, shoulders back, sunburst flashes, he is taller, _taller_ , Zuko looks over his shoulder, he is the same height (taller than him).

He listens, as his nephew speaks, as his nephew yells, his voice fire and smoke, burnt. He talks and it carries as orders do across battlefields, weighted like the sins of their ancestors upon his shoulders. The air vibrates, and his words are known.

His nephew, his brash and bold nephew, stubborn nephew, _impulsive_ nephew, what had he done this time?

Iroh worries and knows, as he knows the _hidden tears, stifled screams, and hours spent beside fevered bedsides, the fevered pleas to a father who even in dreams does not offer mercy, does not relent. “Father…I’m sorry, father—please, please, I’m sorry…” The anger like the wick of a candle, quickly and easily lit, an anger that lingers and burns. A ground fire thought extinguished but blazing again soon. Voices shouted hoarse and footsteps melted into the hull of a ship_ —Zuko. There was trouble and there is trouble, and his nephew would never be one to ask for help. Something is different, and Iroh cannot be sure as to what yet.

Something is different.

And Iroh worries.

* * *

The Wani.

The Wani, is a well-maintained ship even if it is smaller than the rest of the fleet, even if it is older than the rest of the fleet. Even if without the Prince needing a ship, this one would most likely have been decommissioned. Three years, an outdated naval ship forced to remain at sea. Three years and any naval ship would have problems, Engineer Hanako handles those engine issues that three years traveling the entirety of the ocean, the heat of the summers and the cold of the poles, the strain of constant sailing puts on their ship. She handles them with a welding flame and a voice far too loud for her size. Three years in the grasp of La, his constant tides they rely on, his rampant moods they endure, his rocking motion they’ve adjusted to. They are as of La as they are of Agni. They are his now, Lieutenant Jee watches the Prince stride across deck, stomping (he can feel it), but never swaying or stumbling, the Prince, son of Agni, is just as much La’s now. 

Those of the crew that remain, three years and they are here, hold an understanding. They grumble and complain and say things that would have had them thrown from the ship if it was any ship but this one, if there was any ship lower than this one, but they stay with the Prince. They chose the Prince. 

Lieutenant Jee had been a member of the Fire Nation Navy for many years now, longer than the recently promoted Admiral Zhao, but his “disrespectful, near-mutinous attitude” had left him with far less promotions and had led to his assignment on a ship that was never supposed to return to the home islands. On a ship led by a child younger than his daughter, and much louder too. But the Prince was not Zhao. Lieutenant Jee may not like his assignment, or his position, or the fact he would most likely never step foot on Fire Nation soil again; but being ordered around by an entitled child (who no one had prepared for leading a ship) was better than with men like Zhao, and far safer too. Lieutenant Jee had chosen the Navy, for although drowning was its own nightmare it was safer than the front lines where earthbenders could have the ground you stand upon bring you under. Lieutenant Jee watching the men he work under throw yet another child at their enemies, _they keep getting younger_ , and had lost his respect for his commanding officers. Lieutenant Jee had been a Captain before he had been demoted … _the Captain demonstrates disrespectfully creaking armor_ …. he was proud of that one and had been given a child for a Captain. Lieutenant Jee had listened as the General had outlined why they were searching for the Avatar (the General hadn’t realized he may be near-mutinous but he never would have…not to their entitled brat), and had lost any remaining ties and love to the throne—to his country. He had chosen the Prince.

Better him than men like Zhao, ~~than men like the Fire Lord.~~

The Prince was shouting, maybe not.

Three years at sea, and maybe the Prince does not remember maybe he doesn’t even know, but Jee does. Jee knows where his “Navigational Difficulties” came from and one day he’ll figure out how to repay the Dragon without getting himself killed. Three years at sea and this punishment never ends. _How was he supposed to stop the Prince from finding trouble and getting adopted by some animal? It happens too frequently for Jee to question it anymore._ The Prince leans over a map helping to plot the most efficient course (not just approving the final course) and argues over where the Avatar—a nuisance who is somehow younger than his commander—will go next. The Avatar who had somehow managed to escape one of the Fire Nation’s most impenetrable fortresses. Glancing over at the shouting nuisance aboard his ship, phoenix tail high hair shaved in dishonor, it’s a wonder the General hasn’t begun to bald. Jee would prefer subordinate over parental figure. Speaking of the Dragon.

Helmsman Kyo twitches, he always twitches. Maps before him, Agni above, it’s the General ( ~~retired~~ , he’d smile). Zuko twitches, Zuko cannot lie. Three years and empty beds, missing commanders, pacing and scolding the night watch—he’d thought they should’ve been able to catch him—three years and he’s changed his mind. Zuko cannot lie, eyes darkened, and extra bristling to throw off questioning. Jee shifts, _what did you do_ , he does not ask. 

Zuko scowls, _worried Uncle_ , he does not say. 

Music night, is a near weekly occurrence, and a fantastic way of welcoming new crewman when they have them, _when one of the old crew grew too tired too angry and tried to remove the source of their problems, the reason they’ll never see home_. They invite the Prince. He does not always attend, he tries to avoid it when he can, when he is feeling especially guilty his Uncle can talk him into playing the Tsungi Horn. He does not attend music night. Zhao does.

Zhao, who followed them (followed the Prince) from port to port. Who restricts supplies and stands too close, closer than Jee would allow anyone to his daughter. She’s in the army now. She should still be in the army now. They don’t always tell the Wani, which divisions have been sent to the slaughter. She’s a nonbender, they go quicker. Zhao is on their ship, he walks aboard ready to gloat, to antagonize the Prince, to demonstrate his superiority. 

Zhao is on their ship, he hasn’t come alone. 

He always comes alone. 

Zhao is on their ship and asking to speak to the Prince, to antagonize the Prince. Zhao who picks fights with sixteen-year-old boys, and lost. Zhao had captured the Avatar and lost him to a Blue Spirit, a man in a mask (shorter than an adult). A man with dual Dao. There are only so many people invested enough in the Avatar to rescue him from Pohuai. Jee can see the smug look on Zhao’s face as they walk him to the Prince. Zhao had brought others, and is barely restraining excitement. There are only two things that would excite the Admiral that would lead him to gloat before the Prince.

He steals Lieutenant Jee’s crew. 

_Three years._

He steals Lieutenant Jee's crew. 

Lieutenant Jee watches as the Prince—a sixteen year old child—shouts refusing to believe his father would allow for his crew to be stolen, a crew made up of the unwanted of the Fire Nation Navy (with mutiny near stamped in all of their files). Jee hates that he was right. He watches as the Prince yells and snarls and his language would in any other circumstance have the General loose, (three years, they live by La, and they’ve made their Prince into a sailor through and through), he almost smiles. Zhao steals his crew and he steals Jee too. He tries to steal the Dragon, whose smile is too wide, Zhao would leave the Prince with no one. The Fire Lord would leave the Prince with no one. He’d prefer the Prince.

They disembark and are reassigned, leaving gray worn gray, three years and a rust bucket ship. They are to leave their Prince and Lieutenant Jee shifts…

Zhao does not understand,  
(The Prince would have).

* * *

Zuko isn’t human, but he isn’t a spirit. No matter the fact that the bird-spirit, _spirit-bird_ , had addressed him as one. His Uncle had told him about spirit confusion which can occur when people become involved in spirit matters. Regardless of the night spent shrouded in shadows ( _dark, and warm and fitting and perfect—safe_ ), following behind the black blue glowing other the bird before him emits. Regardless of the reverent whispers he hears alone. The smoky incense when none is lit. The colorful beautiful other and the taste of bluequat berries. He wasn’t a spirit, Zuko could tell. But he wasn’t human either.

And he had no idea how to break it to his Uncle,  
( _Who had already lost one son, who had claimed that he was like..._ ).

Zuko is a terrible liar. It was a fact his sister had consistently mocked him for, and one he couldn’t rid himself of no matter the practice (He didn’t really see the point in lies regardless—why couldn’t people just say the truth? _He hated lies and lying_ ). He knew lying to his Uncle wouldn’t help the situation and that he wouldn’t be successful at it either, but he hoped his Uncle would simply mistake it as he was up to Blue Spirit related trouble, _technically it was_. Zuko is a terrible liar, standing before his Uncle, Agni above, he knows this and prepares to lie.

How else would he explain it, what his life had turned into—he couldn’t. So, he lied. Zuko had lied because maybe the Avatar and his friends weren’t just speaking nonsense, and maybe there was some truth to why the Avatar—Aang—had been apologizing, his claim that he had died. Zuko didn’t remember dying. And he isn’t really sure that he did. But he is part-spirit, almost a spirit, and he isn’t sure how that happened. He had rescued the Avatar—Aang—and his friends and a little earth kingdom girl. He had been mistaken as a spirit and given a **name**. He had been called upon to assist another spirit in their spirit tasks and understood them; although they were a bird, he shouldn’t have understood them (he shouldn’t have understood their disappointment in how three years at sea had affected his language either). There was no way to say that. He knew how to pick his battles, even if his Uncle thinks he should pick less, even as his Uncle cries for him to _put some back, put some battles back **please** dear nephew_. He knows how to pick them ( ~~he likes to pick the ones that seem fun~~ ). 

—And Zuko tries to ignore the pinched look on his Uncle’s face, he can never quite ignore the disapproval though. He is always a disappointment. Zuko decides to perform a tactical retreat, stomping as he goes. 

Lieutenant Jee, had been placed upon his ship due to his lack of respect for authority, he is disrespectful and occasionally mutinous, but he knows how to run a ship. Even if he has no ability to navigate. In the bridge of his ship Agni gracing them through the array of windows, his hand brushes the necklace he had been gifted, blue, and he watches the way Helmsman Kyo twitches as the General joins him. Uncle has been many things, Crown Prince, heir to the throne, Dragon of the West, the General; Uncle is many things. The General is on the bridge, the General—the Dragon of the West—is watching, and Zuko finds his fingers brushing blue hidden under his collar, touching, checking that the necklace is still there. Uncle does not know what he has lied about, but he does know that he had lied. The General marches through. The Lieutenant shifts, _what did you do,_ it asks. As if Zuko would answer it. 

They need to plot a course, the Avatar—Aang—is most likely heading North, he needs to learn waterbending after all. The North is a fortress of ice and snow it goes months without Agni’s light, there’s a reason they don’t colonize the poles. But the Avatar—Aang, a child—is prone to getting distracted, he is air, pacifistic and flighty. If Zuko could catch up to him before he journeys over endless blue, flying-bison soaring over La’s domain cutting time from their passage, it would be better to catch him before. If Zuko hadn’t released him…he never would have had the opportunity to do so. He does not regret it.

Hiding from music night, his crew, his Uncle, had invited him, he couldn’t help but shake his head for he feels infinitely taller stretching to Blue, worse than yesterday. He went on a spirit quest and was addressed as a spirit in turn. His ears are so filled with nonsense he almost missed the invite. No, its better he hides from music night. He cannot lie after all.

He is on the edge—the edge of something. 

Hiding from music night, they still knock, they let themselves in, he turns snarl on his face.

Zhao.

Who notes the swords.

He may come to regret it.

* * *

The audacity of that commander, Zhao is an admiral, he is higher he is better than him. He was still escorted from the stronghold. No matter, Zhao is better. He gathers forces elsewhere and has them comb the forest for the Blue Spirit and the Avatar—a menace. He writes a letter, Commander Shinu will regret it (Shinu doesn’t, Zhao should). They search a village, small, tiny and pathetic, earth peasants barely surviving, it would be a kindness to burn this village down, maybe they’d rebuild it nicer. Zhao holds a flame to a child’s face…

Zhao is not an idiot, he is an admiral in the glorious Fire Nation Navy, he did not garner two promotions in the span of months for being an idiot. So, he writes a letter, Commander Shinu will regret it, and emphasizes the presence of spirits, he is fully capable of meeting two goals at once. 

_…The Avatar escaped with the assistance of spirits. Parties were sent out in search immediately. I cannot help but feel this demonstrates the necessity of my suggestion for…_

Zhao is capable of achieving multiple tasks at once, of completing multiple objectives to reach his goals, which is why he is aboard the prince’s ship. Why a banished prince deserves a ship remains to be seen. The orders tucked into his armor, lightens his step (he has orders—he is protected), as he demands to speak with the prince, the entitled child. Zhao had had the Avatar—a menace—and he had lost him due to the incompetence of Pohuai Stronghold and its Yuyan. Who knew the Yuyan were cowards. Cowards who believe in spirit tales ( _a library, filled with all the knowledge he’d need to join them in the history books, a fire—it was such a **shame** how much information can be lost in a fire_). They swore it was a spirit, as if they hadn’t seen the wood of the mask, as he had. Traitors to their nation they were. _A town, a threatening presence_. There was no Blue Spirit, only a man in a mask. 

A snarling prince, and dual Dao. 

Zhao had sent out a letter, _…on this glorious day, Fire Nation history shall know, the greatest threat to the glory of our Nation and the spread of its greatness with the world, the Avatar has been captured…_ he might have even said where the Avatar was in it. Pohuai. 

Zhao smiles.

Unfortunate, how the demands of war require sacrifices from even the greatest of its people.

Zhao takes the crew.

A banished prince doesn’t deserve a ship. His letter from the Fire Lord agrees.

Unfortunate, the Avatar is traveling to the Northern Water Tribe and a ship lacking in a crew would have trouble making it there.

Zhao takes the crew.

A banished prince doesn’t realize he isn’t needed home. 

* * *

Striding into the building, back straight, gray walls, steel. Zhao ignores the snide comments from the guards on duty, he has only one reason to be here.

And it’s not to gloat.

He leans against metal, keys dangling from fingertips, and watches the pirates grin.

They have an agreement.

Vengeful people pirates. 

* * *

The explosion at the shoreline has heads turning across the port, Zhao vaguely notes the impressive size of the blast, he should’ve specified how much blasting jelly. 

He hears the General screaming.

Zhao turns away, it’s a job well done.

He’s got bigger fish to fry,  
(The waves sharpen—Zhao does not notice). 

* * *

Zhao had taken his crew. Not that he wanted them or cared that they were gone. But he had taken them. _Father had taken them_. How was he expected to retrieve the Avatar—Aang, a child—without a crew to man his ship? How was he expected to compete against Zhao who had the full backing of the Northern Fleet and its resources with him? How did Father expect him to succeed this way, he has to, it’s the only way to go home (to regain his honor). Why would—how could they? 

_How could they?_

Zuko is angry. This is not unusual.

Zuko is angry, burning he is boiling he is— 

The electric feeling ringing singing down his spine in his fingers, his arms, his legs, hasn’t gone away. It has gotten worse. He is angry and he is laying staring at his ceiling, gray, and he watches the red red, colors bleed in. _Red and blue and green, other, other, other_. He breathes, and lets it fade.

He is angry, but he somehow ( _fires going out when needed, bending weakened, burns appearing on arms— as if Agni's gift had turned against them..._ ), if he lets too much other enter and join him in his anger, it will be too much, he—Zuko doesn’t want to do that. People could get hurt. He is angry, at Zhao and ~~at his Father~~ and this stupid stupid quest. But, he doesn’t, he won’t, they could get hurt, someone could get hurt. And he is loyal. But—Zuko isn’t human and he isn’t a spirit. _Spirits don’t believe in forgiveness they believe in revenge, they sometimes believe in justice (but what they determine fair is not the same as what a human determines fair),_ and Zuko is still somewhat human. He will breathe and let the colors fade. He will breathe and try and calm the singing in his blood, the call to fix this. That _this is not right, fix this._

_How dare they?_

**_Fix this._ **

Zuko breathes.

He’s lost his crew, Kyo and Hanako and Teruko and Dekku and Jee. _Standing in a port bar he watches Kyo talking talking friendly gain free drinks for him and his table, Teruko arguing with Jee barely heard random words …Sergeant….latrine duty…just one fire… and Hanako loud loud louder always louder throwing a grown man across the room, and what does she have there? A knife. No! Rounding up his crew like scattered gorilla-sheep. Dekku and Genji music night dancing by, as Jee plays pipa, lanterns lit, Tui above and La below. Soft conversations turning raucous as liquor is applied. Invites grudgingly to music night leading to grumbled sulking beside railings. His first smile at sea quiet and small looking at Uncle and Jee over a map that is increasingly Fire Nation. Two mutinies later, crewman replaced and crewman lost. Three years and blue blue blue, rocking under foot, waves in storm crashing pushing pulling at his ship._ His crew, they’d taken his crew and so grounded his ship. They’d taken his crew, three years. They’d taken his crew and tossed him to land he cannot tread on. Land that with the tides of war will kill him no matter whose nation it is. He cannot step foot in fire without threat of execution, breaking the terms of his banishment. Those of Earth, those of Water, would happily remove him from the line of succession. Another Firebender dead. Another Prince lost to Earth, the war would never end.

He could live on the Wani, alone (with Uncle maybe), cooking his food and staying in port. He can’t man the ship himself. Then they’d tell him he can’t stay in port that long. He wouldn’t be able to move his ship, next they’d take his ship. Then Zuko would die. Uncle can leave—he can go home. But Zuko cannot. Zuko will die and his Father took his ship, his crew, his chance to return home, his chance to live.

Zuko is angry.

And he is not sure how much is him, how much is a spirit’s anger. 

He tries to breathe, to calm—

“Uncle?” 

He rises, he listens.

Zuko goes to the hall, the deck, the bridge. He heard something—he’s sure. His bridge, his ship—empty, his eye catches on a map. _Plotting a course, Lieutenant Jee frowns and shifts, disagrees, but Zuko is sure. Jee taught him the stars, he frowns pointing to maps and the sky up above. Jee taught him to read the sun its direction, his location, gray hair sideburns and a frown shifting his weight arms to the side pointing (his lips twitch when Zuko copies him). Jee taught him–_ he looks up, he’s alone.

He’s alone.

He looks out, the sea—his home—and spots the bird. Iguana-Parrot. Pirates.

He has time to raise a fire shield.

It isn’t enough,  
(He was on the edge of something, something other).

He’s angry,  
(He falls).

**The Blue Spirit is angry.**

Red, red, red, colorful. Everything is colorful, the colors bleeding running through the veins of this world. Whispered words, prayers. His face is wood, he is blue. Snarled and fanged and ANGRY. He does not feel as he breaks and burns and twists and is ripped to shreds, he does not feel as he is made right. As he is made spirit, as they are made perfect. The heat of the blast fills him up up up. He is angry and burning. He is cold and dark and burning and bright. He feels electric. He is vengeance and Justice and Fire—he burns.

Around the spirit, the ship was ripped to shreds, torn, broken, ruined. He stands in the broken burnt ruin of his ship—they match. He stands in the blast, he hovers over water, his feet graze the surface, he does not fall. Screaming.

A pier, lit with the fires of their birth, his Uncle tears run rampant down his face.

Other, other, other, sings they hear the call. _Come with us. It’s time._

A pier, lit with the fires they blaze higher in fury, a man stands screaming.

Rainbowed hues, they shift they see. It’s early, but its time. Singing harmonious and not, discordant and beautiful, broken only by reverent prayers whispered to them, calling for them. They smell incense and they taste bluequat berries. _They are ready, its time._

A pier, dark and empty, a human stands alone.

* * *

Iroh had hoped his nephew would have taken him up on his offer to go for a walk. It does not do well to dwell on one’s problems, especially with Zhao in port. But, he had left him in the dark of his room in an empty ship save for them. He had tried to coax out a smile or to simply be yelled out when he mourned the loss of the cook (he will miss their meals), he hadn’t succeeded. Iroh had been primed to be Fire Lord one day, before his little brother had passed him over. Zhao would not have dared to steal a prince’s crew…unless he had been properly motivated with sufficient orders. Zhao is not loyal no matter what his brother thinks, he goes to where he can gain the most glory to whomever will reward him better. Zhao had been given orders to steal a prince’s crew. Orders which could come from none other than the Fire Lord—Prince Zuko’s father. Lanterns light the way as Iroh ponders when his brother had grown so cold. There had been days in their youth, in the gardens of the palace, green, when his brother ever competitive with sharp amber eyes would challenge him, it had been fun. He was not a kinder man then and had relished in demonstrating his considerable skill comparatively. Was he truly that much better than his brother, or had it been the significant age gap? He—hadn’t really spent that much time with Ozai when they were younger. He tells himself it was because he was older he was preparing for his future as Fire Lord, learning war and military strategies. Iroh had spent a significant portion of his brother’s life on the battlefield, and when he had returned he had his own wife and his dear Lu Ten to focus on. Iroh had spent a significant portion of his nephew’s life on the battlefield. He hadn’t really known his nephew before he was burning and Iroh had realized he hadn’t really known his brother either. He hadn’t cared to. And his nephew had paid for it. 

_(How was he to imagine his brother, younger, amber eyes fierce flashing in anger, scowling would grow and—how was he to imagine his own family setting fire to their pleading crying child?)_

The port town was lit up and lively, it was filled with Fire—it had once been an Earth Kingdom port. Walking, he wishes his nephew was beside him. Iroh had realized his mistake, but it was much too late. He was always too late. His nephew had already burned. And he would never know how much of this anger he sees welling up like a desert spring was at this (it was supposed to be impossible) quest, at the trauma of being injured by one that is loved and trusted, or was simply a part of his nephew he had never seen. He hadn’t seen much of anything really. _Bruises on wrists, reddened skin from under hot painful cruel hands, scrapes and dull dazed eyes. Wary eyes, Scared eyes. That broken arm, he’d sworn up and down he had done to himself_. Iroh had not seen much of anything. He hadn’t cared to. Too deep in his grief he justifies (There isn’t a justification). 

He had never seen his nephew before he had blazed, righteous in his fury, brilliant in his light, a second sun, screaming out at the injustices delivered to his people, his loyal people. He hadn’t seen him until he had lost him.

Laughter, loud and belligerent, Iroh avoids bars. He swore he wouldn’t not after _earth crumbling breaking screaming, dirt on his armor, dirt on his face, dirt in the lungs of too many way too too many young ones. Why were they so young? Rocks that landed too close too close. The walls had come down, the victory should have been there. But the ground collapsing breaking under foot, his men stumbling back. The wall had broken and granted the enemy more weapons to wield against the invaders. He was the invader. Crumpled, dented, armor. A commander’s voice his words lost in the roar of his mind. He is screaming. For, his son…his son. **His son.** Lu Ten_. Ginseng and Jasmine and Oolong. Tea he will drink tea. He’d sworn—he does not want to forget his son. Maybe, there will be a new blend within this town to bring back to his nephew—his second son, if only he could tell him this. Tea makes an excellent distraction. 

The world ends (His world ends), not with a whimper but a bang. 

Iroh runs.

There is only one ship in port, that would be prone to blasting jelly accidents.

He runs and he runs and he is always too late.

He screams, to the sky the moon the sea, he screams to the gods whose people he has tormented and his nation has killed, he screams so his nephew can hear him. Can come back to him. 

_"ZUKO!"_

He prays to Agni above (whose turn it is to sleep), and to Tui and La (whose waterbenders they’ve stolen and whose people curse his own), and to Feng (the nomads are all dead their blood staining the temples, staining him), and to Oma and Shu and the three spirits of the mountain (he’s the Dragon of the West), and he prays and he prays to every and all he knows. He prays, not again. Please— _please_ , not again. He will not lose another son.

But he is too late, he will always be too late.

He was too late to realize his mistakes and crimes against the world, to pull back from Ba Sing Se, to save his son. He was too late to see the coldness he had let spread through his brother, to let a child into a war meeting, to stop the fiery burning hot hand to his nephew’s face. He was too late standing in a harbor of a Fire Nation ~~Earth Kingdom~~ port as metal and fire rain from above. 

He is always too late.

Before him, bright and blazing and righteous in fury, a second sun, screaming at the injustice of a child's murder—blue. 

* * *

Blue.

Blue.

Blue.

Blue and fanged, snarling a warning, grinning its madness, horned and blue.

**A spirit.**

_His nephew._

**_Zuko._ **

* * *

_Light and fury._

_Protective and playful._

_Righteous and blazing._

_Burning and Justice._

_Cold._

_Cold._

_Cold._

_He is the shadows and he is the light._

_He is the justice met out to the injustices of the world._

_He is the friend, playful, trickster._

_He is the protector of children._

_Protector of those he chooses._

_He is the fire that warms you; the fire that helps to feed you._

_He is the spark of the rebellion and the shadows they occur in._

_He is kind, for he has mercy._

_They sometimes even remember what it was to be human._

_Spirit._

_Spirit._

_They are Spirit._

_The fire the blast had rocked through their ship through their bones through their being. Breaking. Bursting. Blazing  
(Broken burnt ruin). And they had risen._

_They are a spirit_

**_The Blue Spirit._ **

* * *

Zuko, _oh Zuko—_ what have you done now?  
And Iroh worries.

* * *

The world shifts, they are standing and the world is colorful, rainbowed hues, pulsing through the trees, the ground. They look up and it is dark (there is no sun, no moon).

 _Little Flame._  
They turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> List of animal combinations: Armadillo-porcupine; mosquito-moth; gorilla-sheep
> 
> Is this where I should have mentioned character death, oh well it was in the tags. Zuko is definitely dead dead now, he is a spirit they aren't the same. Also just to clarify yes the pronoun shifts are intentional near the end, unless it is someone who is not Zuko nor the Blue Spirit and it doesn't match up. Theirs change others shouldn't.

**Author's Note:**

> Well I hope you liked it, also they don't really talk about the Earth and Air spirits so some of them might be inspired by **[ZenzaNightwing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZenzaNightwing)** \- who doesn't need eldritch horror spirit definitions (some might just be from the amount of different fics I read, they all exist as one now-let me know if I need to credit someone I missed). 
> 
> The next part of the series will take a quick trip to the spirit world before we head back to the world of humans and canon.  
> Let me know what you think!


End file.
